


We'll Meet Again

by ddagent



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6335248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the fall of SHIELD, Phil and Melinda run into each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD, its characters or settings. All belongs to Marvel and ABC. 
> 
> I've always wondered what it would be like if, at the end of season one, all five of our heroes went their separate ways. I've wanted to write this story for a while, finally glad I got it down. Hope you enjoy!

It had been six months since the fall of SHIELD. 

Six months since the news channels had showed nothing but shots of the helicarriers crashing into the Potomac. Six months since everyone from investigative journalists to experienced hackers dug through the data leak from SHIELD and mined it for everything it was worth. They’d deleted her name, her identity. But it was already too late. Melinda May was, and always would be, an agent of SHIELD.

 _But SHIELD didn’t exist any more._ Neither did her team. 

They had gone their separate ways: five different bags, five different directions. Melinda had travelled to Pennsylvania to see her mother. She’d stayed in her old bedroom, sorted through old photographs and trophies. For a while, she had appreciated her mother’s presence. Melinda left at the first mention of a job at the Agency. 

After that, she’d headed south to Arizona. She slept on his sofa, helped her father with chores and tried not to starve them both. She ignored the whispers at the golf club, the brightly coloured pages of the papers talking about _Hydra_ and _SHIELD_ as if they were one and the same. She left two days after her father asked the question ‘What are you going to do now?’

 _I don’t know,_ was her answer.Her entire life since the age of eighteen was lying at the bottom of the Potomac. 

So she travelled. Three continents, ten cities. Postcards and pictures and old friends. For a minute, Melinda had thought she’d seen Fitz and Simmons in London. Two young kids; eyes bright as they walked through the crowd. But they were just two of London’s many students. She thought of them often, and hoped they were happy. Happy and _safe._

She saw Skye in Los Angeles. 

Melinda had been walking through the streets; beaten up duffel bag hoisted on one shoulder. She’d stopped, unsure of herself, fingers digging into her bag for the map she’d stuffed in there earlier. Across the road, in one of those hipster cafés that seemed to litter Los Angeles, was _Skye._ Computer out, laughing with the friends she was with. She _was_ happy, she _was_ safe. Ward couldn’t hurt her any longer. 

Skye saw her watching from across the street. She offered a wave, a smile, before returning to her coffee. 

Six months, three continents, ten cities. Still no Phil Coulson. She hadn’t expected to find him; it was pure luck that she had even found Skye. But a part of her wanted to see him. One long conversation in a flea ridden motel hadn’t completely repaired the damage to their friendship. There hadn’t been time. Like the others, she hoped he was happy, safe. Unlike the others, a part of her hoped he was thinking about her too. 

\--

Six months, three continents, _eleven_ cities. New York. Melinda hadn’t been there since the aftermath of the Chitauri attack. She had needed a distraction, and fielding press requests and calls had certainly sufficed. Before that, she could not remember. She liked the city, it held a certain anonymity she quite enjoyed. Her hotel room was sufficient; her transportation her own two feet. She had yet to decide how long to stay. A week, maybe two. 

Hell, she might even stay forever. 

Slipping into the hotel foyer, Melinda checked in with the concierge desk. “Anything for Room 616?”

The young woman behind the desk checked, nodding. Melinda was surprised when she retrieved a medium sized package. “Just this. Is that everything for you, Ms Carter?”

“It is, thank you.”

Melinda cradled the box as she stepped onto the elevator, heading up towards her room. Plain brown paper. Printed label. Pennsylvania mail stamp. _Care package from Mom._ Melinda sighed as she tried to guess the contents. A gun, perhaps. Details about a job she could work. Whatever was inside, Melinda want no part of it. 

She used her knife to slit it open as soon as she was safely inside her room. It was packaged well. When all of it was pulled away, Melinda gasped. Her old camera. Expensive and modern for its time, over three decades ago. Now, she wasn’t sure if it would work. Melinda picked it up, took an experimental shot. _Still worked._

It took several searches, but Melinda eventually found a place in New York that would develop the thirty year old film and sell her a replacement. She picked up both one blustery afternoon. 

“Here, keep the change,” Melinda said as she left a crushed handful of bills on the counter. 

Outside, camera around her neck, Melinda looked like every other tourist in New York City. She flicked through the newly developed photographs, finding a few of home and her mother. Most of the reel was her and Phil the summer he had come down for leave. He grinned at the camera, grinned at her. There was shots of them at the arcade, shots of them at the park. They looked happy. Young. _Innocent._

Feeling an ache in her chest, Melinda slid the photographs away. She concentrated on the task at hand, of renewing her love of photography. It had been a while, but Melinda still remembered the process. The light, the shadow. The perfect shot. She acted like a tourist, pointing her camera and clicking the shutter. Times Square, _click._ Central Park, _click._ A shot of a young woman, the spitting image of Jemma, roller blading. _Click._ Phil Coulson. _Click._

_Click._

Melinda lifted the lens away from her face, staring across the street at the unmoving figure. She wondered if it was a trick of the light; perhaps he would disappear just like FitzSimmons had in London. But he did not disappear. He stood, his mouth pulling up into a smile as he saw her. 

_Click._

Suddenly he was moving, crossing the street to join her. He waved at the cab braking in front of him; grinning sheepishly as he joined her on her side of the road. He looked the same, looked better. Even standing in front of her, she couldn’t quite believe it was him. “Hi, May.”

“Coulson.” 

He was beaming, his enthusiasm unable to be contained. “How have you been?”

She shrugged. “Surviving. You?”

“About the same.” 

Conversation had never really been awkward between them, but it was now. The last time they had seen each other had been at an airport hangar, having cleared out the Bus and heading on for pastures new. They’d shared a look, more meaningful than any conversation. Then she had got on a bus to Pennsylvania. He had driven Lola off into the sunset. So many things were left unsaid. Yet neither of them were talking. 

Eventually Phil cleared his throat. “You got time for a cup of coffee?” 

A nod. “I’ve got some time.”

There was a little coffee shop situated a half block away. Quiet, almost hidden. It was the sort of place you’d meet a contact; organise a dead drop. But not for them, not any more. They took a table at the back, with a perfect view of the front door and the employee entrance. Melinda even saw Phil clocking how many patrons were still inside. He chuckled, nervously, when she caught him. 

A pot of tea, a black coffee, and two chocolate chip muffins. Phil picked at his, pulling apart the cake without eating a crumb. Melinda stirred her tea, the silver spoon clattering awkwardly against the rim of the cup. They were as anonymous, as inconsequential, as anyone else in New York. Yet it still felt strange to be just sitting there. 

“So, how have you been?” Phil eventually asked, leaving his decimated muffin on the plate beside his mug. “What you been up to?”

“Travelling.” The tea was weak, and Melinda wrinkled her nose at the taste. “Went home for a little while. I wouldn’t advise visiting Pennsylvania any time soon.”

Phil smirked. “Duly noted. How about Arizona?”

“Always a warm welcome.” Melinda sighed. “What about you?”

A shrug. “A little of the same. The Avengers still think I’m dead, so a job at Stark Industries is out of the question. I went to the Captain America exhibit, got a t-shirt.” Melinda rolled her eyes. She stopped when she saw Phil’s smile fade. “I went to Portland.”

She leant forward in her seat. “Did you see her?” 

Phil paused, before shaking his head. “No. I _did_ see her, see her play. But I couldn’t talk to her. I had no idea what to stay to her.” He swallowed, his hand playing with the handle of his coffee mug. “She’s _happy,_ May. She’s moved on. I can’t blow into town, disturb her life again, without even knowing if I’m going to stay.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He sighed, his body hunched. “I don’t know. I feel like a ghost. Like I have unfinished business. I just can’t figure out what the business is.” 

“I feel that way all the time.” 

Her words seemed to sooth him. His back straightened, his head lifted. _He smiled._ She understood him, always did and always would. She knew what SHIELD had meant to him, to them. Starting off so young, the youngest Operations cadets in a generation, this wound cut deep. It would take longer to heal, longer to find their place. _If they ever did._

“You know, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you across the street. Have you seen any of the others?” 

Melinda nodded. “Skye. She’s in LA, looks good.” Phil grinned at the mention of his former protege. Melinda wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d kept tabs on her. “You?”

“I saw Fitz in Heathrow two weeks back. He was waiting to pick up Simmons and her folks. He looked good. So do you, by the way.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. "You look really good, Melinda.”

“So do you. You look better without the tie.”

Phil laughed, reaching down to press a hand against his tie-less chest. “Feels strange, some mornings, not having to wear a suit and tie. But I’m getting used to it. It helped that I went on vacation for a little while. Sun, sand, Travis McGee. Want to hear something funny?” 

“Sure.”

“I actually went to Tahiti.” Melinda stared. “I know, _I know_. I guess I just had to go, to put those memories to rest. Kinda liked it more the first time round.”

Phil had been given the memories of a beautiful island to replace the trauma of his resurrection. In the implanted images, he had been there alone. Melinda hated that Phil had been alone a second time too. He had been alone through most of his journey to discover the truth about himself. She had wanted to be there, but she had done what SHIELD agents did best. Operating in the shadows. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-” Phil frowned, obviously reading something in her face. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about how we left things. I know we talked a lot in that motel room.”

“We did.” They had talked about specifics, about all the details Melinda could recall. As sunlight had flooded in through the thin drapes, Phil had whispered an apology. As had she. “There’s still a lot to talk about.”

“You’re right.” Melinda felt something brush her hand. _Phil._ A small gesture, an olive branch. A sign that things were becoming right with the world. “I’m glad you came back. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologise for how much I must have hurt you. For not trusting you.”

Melinda swallowed back memories of a gun pointed in her face, of the bitter and resentful words hurled in her direction. “It _did_ hurt. But so did me keeping Tahiti from you.”

“It all happened at once. Tahiti, the fall of SHIELD. I needed you so much and I couldn’t turn to you. It made it a million times worse.”

Melinda swallowed, pulling her hand back across the table to wrap around the tasteless tea. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to protect you.”

“I know.” He offered her a weak smile. “If I’d been faced with the same choice, I would have done the exact same thing. You mean so much to me, Melinda. You are probably the most important person in my life.”

Melinda smiled, unable to help herself. A warmth bubbled through her after hearing his words. “I should think so. I’ve known you for over three decades.”

Phil laughed, his eyes brightening. But suddenly that bright light faded; his laughter dying in his throat. Suddenly the past six months overwhelmed them both, and the weight of all they had lost threatened to consume them. Phil stared at her, looking as lost as she was. “Melinda, I don’t know what to do.” 

 _I don’t know either._ Swallowing, Melinda reached across for his hand. Her fingertips brushed his. “I guess we can do what we’ve always _wanted_ to do. SHIELD was about sacrifice.” She smirked. “Let’s be selfish.”

Melinda had always had some idea of what Phil was thinking. But as he gazed at her over the small table, eyes warm and smile suddenly bright, she had no idea. She just knew that for the first time in six months, she felt something akin to peace. Something akin to _home._

_\--_

They sat in the coffee shop for a little longer; Phil draining his coffee and Melinda picking at her chocolate chip muffin. They talked little, mostly rumours and gossip. A few of their old friends had been murdered in the coup; buried in forgotten graves or not buried at all. Mostly they had been lucky. A lot of their friends had survived to fight another day. 

With the afternoon light dwindling outside, they got to their feet. Phil held the door open for her, letting Melinda out first into the bitter autumn wind. They hesitated outside, both unsure of what would happen next. Melinda supposed they should say goodbye; perhaps wait another six months or more until their paths crossed again. But Melinda didn’t want that. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but not that. 

As the third cab passed them since stepping outside, Melinda turned to Phil. He seemed to hesitate over something. “How long are you in town for?”

Melinda shrugged. “A week, maybe two. Why?”

Phil smiled. “I want to take you to dinner.”

Melinda gasped. The last time they had shared a meal in anything resembling a restaurant had been a poorly lit lunch sandwiched somewhere between Bahrain and the Battle of New York. Melinda had spent most of the last six months living on take out and room service. A well cooked meal and company would make a pleasant change. 

So she nodded, her head bobbing. “I’ll be there.”

“ _Good._ I’ll call you, time and place?”

She gave him the details of her newest burner, and he hers. With information exchanged, there was nothing left to keep them there. Phil’s hand jerked out, whether to hug her or pat her on the shoulder Melinda did not know. A handshake would not do, not for them. So she pushed forward. Her arms coiled around his neck, pulling Phil in close. Melinda felt two arms wrap around her middle; his head nestling in the curve of her neck. Her fingertips dug into the blades of his shoulders, her eyes screwed shut as she tried to savour how it felt in his arms. _It felt like home._

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Phil said after they finally pulled away from the other. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Me too.” 

No fond farewell. No tearful goodbye. But as she waved to the departing figure of Phil Coulson, there was the promise of something. The promise of  _tomorrow._


End file.
